


Sonnets

by cruisedirector



Category: Smallville
Genre: Confusion, Crushes, Episode Related, Jealousy, M/M, Poetry, References to Shakespeare, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-23
Updated: 2003-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-03 15:38:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruisedirector/pseuds/cruisedirector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After "Nocturne," Clark naively discusses sonnets with Lex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sonnets

**Author's Note:**

> Just had to, after "Nocturne" -- first time I ever wrote _Smallville_. Minor episode spoilers. Shakespeare wrote the sonnet at the end.

After Lana had gone, Clark tossed the last hay bales onto the truck with a discouraged sigh. "Being your slave, what should I do but tend/Upon the hours and times of your desire?" he called sarcastically in the direction of Nell's house. It wasn't exactly true that he hadn't liked the sonnets, but he didn't want to tell Lana that all of the hopeless pleas to an unwilling love had struck a little too close to home.

Slowly, because he had nothing he really wanted to do, Clark headed to the barn. He was upset that Lana no longer trusted him. They had been close for a long time...and since Chloe still hadn't forgiven him for the dance and all the rest, Lana was pretty much the only good female friend he had. But in a way, having Lana distracted by Byron got Clark off the hook for awhile from trying to figure out what he really wanted from her. She was as beautiful as ever, but since she'd told Whitney that she only wanted to be friends, Clark couldn't seem to say the right thing to her.

He wondered whether maybe he wasn't trying.

He wondered why some of the sonnets made him think of Lex.

Clark hated the idea of his mother working for Lionel Luthor, though not for the same reasons as his dad. He didn't want his mother hovering nearby when he went over to see Lex. Since Lionel had moved in, he and Lex had lost the only place where they could be alone without having to worry about parents, friends or business associates barging in.

Now, with Clark's mom at the castle, he and Lex wouldn't even be able to shoot pool together without both their families knowing. Not that either of their fathers had tried to stop them from hanging out lately. But if someone decided they were spending too much time together, who knew what would happen.

Reaching his fortress of solitude, Clark climbed the steps and sat on the floor looking out at the sky. He'd blushed a little about being asked whether he'd ever spied on anyone, but he hadn't used the telescope to watch Lana for a long time. In fact he didn't think about Lana that much anymore, except when she was in danger, which seemed to be an awful lot of the time. Which was probably his fault, even if Pete said he couldn't blame himself for everything bad that happened to his friends. He'd gotten Pete in the hospital, hadn't he?

Clark wondered where Lex was. "Being your slave, what should I do but tend/Upon the hours and times of your desire" really applied more to his relationship with Lex than Lana. He pulled out the slim book of poetry and flipped to Shakespeare's 57th sonnet:

_Nor dare I question with my jealous thought_  
_Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,_  
_But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought._

Though he wasn't positive -- English wasn't his best subject -- it seemed to Clark that an awful lot of Shakespeare's sonnets were aimed at a guy. That had shocked him at first. Shakespeare gay? No way! Then he had sort of liked it. Shakespeare had a secret. Maybe Clark Kent had something in common with most famous writer of all time. Except Shakespeare obviously hadn't done a very good job of keeping his secret safe. At least Shakespeare's secret probably hadn't gotten his friends tossed hundreds of feet through car windows.

Clark heard a car pull up and, a couple of minutes later, footsteps approaching. He felt a goofy grin spread across his face and didn't bother to make it go away.

"Hi, Lex."

"I couldn't listen to my father for another minute," Lex greeted him. "But I can't stay here either. I had to drop off some papers and thought I'd stop by."

"Nice to see you too."

His friend gave him a cockeyed glance. "You're in a mood. Lana still hanging out with Super-Boy?"

Abruptly Clark felt his smile vanish. "Don't call him that."

"Byron, right? Sorry." Lex sounded sincere, but he was staring suspiciously at Clark as he sat on the floor across from him. "That for him?"

"What?"

"That." Lex gestured with his chin. "You're holding a book of poetry, Clark."

"No, that was just, I was just reading it."

"Like it?" Lex reached out across the space between them, hand open. For a moment Clark didn't understand, thought Lex was offering him his hand, or asking. He felt heat rising in his face, in his chest. Then Lex urged, "Let me see."

"Oh." As Clark handed him the book, their fingers brushed. With an enigmatic smile, Lex bowed his head over the slender volume. He licked a finger to flip pages, eyes darting over the words, pausing once to glance up at Clark who realized that he was staring with his mouth open and quickly looked away. He could still see Lex's grin.

"Here, Shakespeare. This is my favorite." Lex handed back the book with a finger inserted between two of the pages, holding the place. Clark couldn't take it without practically covering Lex's hand with his own. His fingers were slippery, and he almost dropped the book.

They got to their feet -- Lex in one smooth, easy motion, Clark stumbling upright because he couldn't tear his eyes away from watching Lex unfold his body into the light like a dark flower thrusting toward the sun. Oh God, where did that come from? Too much poetry and too much being jealous of Byron, who might have lied to Lana about who he was but at least not about how he felt.

"I have to get going. I'll see you soon, Clark."

Then Lex was gone, his car pulling away before Clark had had time to finish reading Shakespeare's twentieth sonnet:

_A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted_  
_Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;_  
_A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted_  
_With shifting change, as is false women's fashion;_  
_An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,_  
_Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;_  
_A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling,_  
_Much steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth._  
_And for a woman wert thou first created;_  
_Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,_  
_And by addition me of thee defeated,_  
_By adding one thing to my purpose nothing._  
_But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,_  
_Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their treasure._

 


End file.
